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Tuesday, September 07, 2004
Pages: TGFI
By JOHN PAGES
MATCHPOINT
I LOVE intrams. If there’s one week during the school year that I look forward to more than any other (well, OK, second to the week after finals), it’s intramurals.
I studied elementary in La Salle-Bacolod. What the men in white running the school devised was ingenious: Raffle off the primary level students and mix us with high-school and college freshmen, sophomores, juniors, and seniors.
Splendid move! There you are, a 10-year-old Grade 5, barely past your pajama days, toying with marbles, spiders and Tonka trucks, now hanging out with high-school teeners and 20-year-olds in college. Cool. You’re in. Hip.
“You’re a big boy now, John-John,” my mind would brag.
At the La Salle Intrams, I joined sports I never would have tried elsewhere: Standing underneath the inverted U-shaped steel bar as goalie, spiking the white ball near the volleyball net, and sprinting my guts out in the 100-meter dash. Of course, it was dribbling and scoring the basketball championship trophy I cherished most.
In high school, right after my freshman year, our family relocated to this Queen City.
FAMILY REUNION. The Cebu International School felt so unlike the big campus, university-feel at La Salle. At CIS, you’re one big family. Everyday didn’t feel like school, it was like heading for family reunion. Pete knew Alma. Alma knew James. James knew Pete. If someone sneezed, many caught colds. Consider this: there were only 15 of us in my batch during graduation!
The CIS Sportsfest had four teams with the most unique names: Narra (blue team), Acacia (green), Molave (yellow), and Mahogany (red).
I was Acacia and, as few as we were, joined almost all the events. The all-around athlete competition (our Olympic decathlon: sprinting, basketball shoot-out, soccer ballkick, and more) was won by basketball hotshot Serge Cuasito, now in New York City.
On to college, I took up Business Management at UP Cebu.
Where can you find now-Mandaue City Councilor Carlo Fortuna riding atop a jeep, waving the throngs of spectators as he cruises around the basketball court like he would years later at the campaign trail?
Only during intrams.
Where can you find Sun.Star Cebu’s big boss Jay-Jay Neri, in full battle gear, dancing like the lead dancer of the UP dance troupe while cheering?
Only during intrams.
Where can you find best friends turn beast friends. Festive nights turn fistful fights. Screams louder than those at the Senate. Baby freshmen insulted by super seniors. (Definition of super: those who’ll graduate “magna,” as in magna-nine years.)
Only during intrams.
Achilles. Take Jesse Bernad. If you saw Troy, he’s Achilles. Our Michael Phelps of the Athens Games.
Everybody sweated facing Hulk. As softball pitcher, he threw underhand fastballs that screamed at you like a bullet ambulance. How do I know? I stood meters from him as batter and almost fell off my backside at the zooming softball’s pace.
As basketball center, Jessed pulled down rebounds like he were picking manzanitas, deflected shots like one would mosquitoes, and owned the low post like a Tim Duncan.
Our basketball team, with six-footer Mark Solomon, Al Sharif, Dustin Morada, Mark Pastrana, Stephen Go, Stephen Espina, Jeffrey Pabriaga, was no pushover, too.
In bowling, I recall Levin Uraya rolling over my batch in our final year. That was painful. As seniors, we were expected to win. But Levin and Co. bowled a come-from-behind win by a mere count of fingers.
That hurt. Like a five-year-old sweetly sucking his lollipop when a four-year-old neighbor grabs it from behind then sprints home to enjoy the candy – that’s how we Seniors felt.
But my UP memories would run short if I failed to mention one person.
She was in her final year in the final inning of the final softball game of the final day of intrams.
The last at bat, the score tied, the eyeballs of hundreds locked in one direction.
She gripped tight that metal stick, shuffled her feet deep down the dirt-brown mound then laid the bat to rest on her right shoulder. With a homer, they’d win. If not…
She swung.
The softball caught dead center as it flew…soared…sailed…far beyond the extended arms of the farthest outfielder.
Hero! Victory! The MVP!
I too would hit a homerun years later: I married Jasmin.
Thank God for intrams.
(e-mail: john@playhouse.edu.ph)
(September 7, 2004 issue)
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